


Party Crashers Part 2

by Kokolo



Series: Party Crashers [2]
Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Bittersweet, Drunken Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Partying, Pining, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokolo/pseuds/Kokolo
Summary: When summer rolls around again and parties crop up, the Brotherhood revisits a favorite party spot for another round.
Relationships: Lance Alvers/Pietro Maximoff
Series: Party Crashers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634173
Kudos: 16





	Party Crashers Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on my Tumblr](https://whattheficery.tumblr.com/post/163530330519/fic-party-crasher-2) July 26, 2017.
> 
> Edited by the always lovely Mugsandpugs <3

Summer rolled around again, and with it the expected rash of graduation, birthdays, and pool parties that came with the warming season. The winter had been particularly harsh, and the spring wet and cool, so when the season changed into pleasant summer and beckoned the house-bound residents of upper-class Bayville, The Brotherhood followed. They kept a list from last year. Some of them (Pietro) even got invitations. Those, he said, were no fun. Still, he went. Alone. 

The one they wound up at was similar. Lance wasn’t sure why, or how. But he’d made a wrong turn and wound up on a long, winding dead-end road, packed with cars. Pietro punched Lance's arm and Todd stuck his head out the window, marveling at the house, the crowd they could be lost in. 

“Pull over, Lance.” Pietro said quietly. “Turn around and park the damn thing.”

“We don’t have anything to store food-”

“I’ll run back and get it. Pull over.”

The car chorused with encouragements and Lance didn’t fight. He was hungry too. He turned the jeep around and parked up the street, a little ways from everyone else. Fred ambled out first, and Todd leapt onto his back, chattering quietly about the size of the place. Lance missed most of it. Pietro was sliding his hand over his shoulder, breathing into his ear. 

“Play it cool, Lancelot.” He said, among other things. 

“Okay.” Lance answered, as if he was able.

He’d gone in a flash. Lance sat in the front seat, idling with the car, until he pieced himself together and wandered down the street, twirling his keys, feeling the metal ring heat up in his palm.

==== 

It wasn’t until Lance has wandered to the backyard that he’d remembered that it wasn’t just the street and the front of the house looked familiar. Everything did. In one rush Lance remembered last year, the party they’d invaded and managed to survive with no major incident. He also remembered Pietro, wet and jovial, and the worst hangover he’d ever had. One quick look between the rest of the Brotherhood reinforced his discovery. None of them were as concerned as he was. It wasn’t usually a good idea to revisit without having a plan first, and this crowd was a lot smaller this time. The hostess, much less drunk. She singled them out almost immediately. 

“Hey - I know you guys.” The hostess had said, pointing at them. 

“Yeah you do.” Lance had said boldly, and he felt eight eyes on him, worried and sharp.

“Yeah. You came to the last party! Awesome - thanks for coming. Make sure you say hi to my sister. It’s for her this time. Kind of. Whatever it’s my house you guys want a drink?”

She’d taken the time to hug them all and guide them toward the cabana, where she offered them spiked punch and beer and shots, all gratefully taken by the Brotherhood and shared with vaguely familiar faces. Lance kept his promise to himself and held on to his single cup much longer than he had at the last party. It was harder to lose himself in such a sparse, older crowd. It seemed that Pietro was having a similar problem, but inevitably he found the pretty people, and made himself at home. 

“Hey.” She’d said to Lance again, singling him out, and he wasn’t as bold as he was when he answered her this time.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna meet the weasels?”

“Weasels?”

“Cat snakes.” She elaborated without elaborating. “I don’t think you met them last time.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Neither do I. I was wasted.” She laughed. “Any of your friends wanna meet ‘em?”

“Probably not.”

Lance followed her up the patio, into the house, up a spiral staircase. Some of the pretty people had followed, and behind them Pietro trailed, curiously looking around the house. Lance could see the silver flickers from the balcony along the ground floor, poking around, looking for valuables. He was crowded into ferret’s room and made to shut the door. He met all three, none taking much of a shine to him. 

When Lance made to leave, Pietro was there, standing just behind the door. 

“Having fun?” Pietro teased, picking a hair off his shirt.

“Yeah. Met the kids.”

“She stuffs her kids into a room during parties?” Pietro asked, smiling. “Sounds familiar.”

“They’re ferrets.”

“I know they’re ferrets. I was making a joke.” He waited for the majority of the group to pass, hostess included, to continue. “There’s not as much food this time.”

“I saw. There should still be some leftover.”

“There were three cakes in the fridge.”

“Definitely some leftover.”

“Not as much _food_ though. Shame.” Pietro shrugged, nudging him. “Could help ourselves to a little extra.”

“No, don’t.” Lance protested, “I like her.”

“Suit yourself.” He said with an easy shrug. “Gonna take a swim. Brought your trunks. They’re in the back of the jeep.”

“Maybe later.”

“Suit yourself.” Pietro repeated, breezing past him. He touched the shoulder of a pretty woman and smiled and they started to talk, loud and friendly. Lance edged past them, out into the sun. When Pietro didn’t come out for several minutes, Lance broke his rule and approached the bar, helping himself to a Hurricane and polite company. 

====

He’d left to get his trunks when he spotted Pietro entertaining a group of women, all of them laughing at, _with_ him. It wasn’t a new sight. Todd tsked and grumbled about him never skipping a beat, never leaving anyone else for him to try and talk to. Instead of agreeing or taking Todd’s drink and falling into the same trap as last year, Lance walked out. It was temporary. He couldn’t just leave them all there, no matter how long he stayed in the driver's seat, contemplating. Pietro would just follow after him anyway, like he’d ridden shotgun. Todd and Freddy would be pranking him for days.    
  
The pool was nicer than he remembered. Heated, deeper, with internal lights that clicked on once the sun began to set. He spent most of the last party floating in the shallows. Now he made use of the diving board and pushed how long he could hold his breath under water. When he tired, he draped himself across a hot plastic float, letting his hair stick to his face and his face stick to the sickly sweet plastic. Fred poked him with a pool noodle and threw him a bottle of water when he proved consciousness, fearing the hangover from last year. He calmed down and offered food and a shady seat when Lance spoke to him without slurring.

Lance declined, opting to dry off and relax in the fading light. He got a half hour into his nap before he felt antsy and the beginnings of mosquitos. He followed paper signs and towels on the floor to the bathroom, checking himself for bites and sunburn, tugged his crumpled jeans over his still slightly-wet legs, and then turned into the dark of the basement to find his shirt, momentarily blind once the light cut out.

“Hey.” A voice said to him, somewhere detached in the dark. It scared Lance to the point of backpedaling into the bathroom, slapping the wall for the light. The following demand didn’t help calm his nerves, “Come here.”

“Why?”

“I found something cool. Come here. Come see.”

Lance calmed. He knew the voice. In the dark he could see the silver-white shape. He walked right into the waiting arms of the ghoul impersonating his friend, and said arms grabbed his wrist with cool hands and tugged him up a couple stairs. His damp feet caught on the dry wood, slipped on cool tile. 

“Where are we going?”

“I found something cool. Shh. Come with me.”

Lance obeyed, following Pietro down a dark hallway, making a sudden turn and tripping up more stairs. And more stairs. And even more stairs. The lights from the deck outside caught on the floor and caught Lance’s eye. They completely bypassed the ground floor of the house and kept climbing, up to the second floor in near pitch darkness, across the balcony with the rest of the party below.

“Where are we going?”

“Trust me.”

Lance did, following him. Their footsteps echoed in the empty hall, and Lance recognized the door to the ferret’s room, and that they passed it, and went down another hall, into another room. Pietro pulled him forward and said something about being there, and Lance’s feet touched carpet. He groped for a lightswitch instinctively, and Pietro slapped his hand away.

“No lights- no lights what the fuck is your problem?”

“I can’t see anything, P.”

“We’re gonna get caught.”

“But I can’t _see.”_

“Look just trust me. Come here. Closer.”

Pietro urged him forward and Lance followed, tripping on carpet, trying to see in the darkness. His eyes were adjusting, but slowly, too slowly, and the blurry shapes in the dark didn’t look like monsters but weren’t anything Lance could recognized. He was on edge, afraid of what was coming. Pietro was known for using scapegoats, and Lance wasn’t entirely sure he knew his way back.

“Where are we?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worried P - where did you take me?”

“One of the spare bedrooms.”

“Bedroom - why?”

“Shh. Come here. I want to show you something.”

And still Lance obeyed, able to make out the outline of a bed, a dresser, a closet door and a window that stretched from floor to ceiling. Lance could see the lights from across the bay, to cities in another state still lit up in the night. He stumbled, blind in the dark _still_ and Pietro helped him up with a swift tug and set him flat on his feet. He couldn’t see Pietro save for his outline, the shock of white hair and pale skin dull in the black, becoming clearer. It occurred to Lance that he was still close, holding his waist. He breathed in and their chests brushed. When he spoke, it was much closer than Lance thought they were, and he shivered. 

“Let me show you something.” Pietro said, softly and with a much different weight than before. Or the same weight. Lance couldn’t tell. His head was spinning. 

“Okay.”

Pietro pressed forward and brushed against him again. And then more permanently, the hand on his waist looped around his back and sat flush against his spine. Another clasped around the back of his neck, cold and wet against his hair. Lance felt the brush of pressure against his mouth, fleeting at first and then harder, firm against his lips. Pietro pulled back, breathing out a short laugh. Lance brought both hands up to cradle Pietro’s face and pulled him in again, kissing him with all the nervous tenderness of someone who’d never kissed before, or more accurately someone who never thought in a million years he’d have the chance. 

The next moments were a blur. Lance wasn’t drunk but his brain came to shuddering halts and sudden starts, blacking in and out. But that wasn’t right either - he felt everything. Every touch, every kiss. The path of every fingertip and lip. He felt his clumsy steps follow Pietro’s smooth strokes to the ends of a shadowy bedframe. It creaked under them, and Lance stopped, suddenly aware of every single noise above the thudding of his heart. Pietro, ever shifting, laughed and kissed him again. 

By the time he could see, Pietro had blotted out the details. The room was still dark. They were tangled together, damp and panting. Nothing had happened that anyone could prove. The bed was a mess, but who ever came back there anyway? Lance was a mess, but when wasn’t he? He felt like he was chained to the earth and also, somehow, flying. Pietro was holding him up, holding him down flat to the bed. Lance could feel Pietro’s legs shivering on either side of him. There was a kiss to the corner of his mouth, smooth and light and lingering, though Lance wasn’t fast enough to return it. A whispered something into his hair and then nothing. No zipper, no creaking. The door didn’t even make noise, swinging easily on the hinges.

Lance laid there, breathing heavy, tracing the creases in the ceiling with his eyes and soaked in the enormity of everything that had just happened. Below, a peal of laughter and splashing. 

====

Lance left the house in a daze, out the side door. He realized too late that’s not where he entered, that someone was going to notice that he was gone for a while, that he at the very least trailed water all across the house. He’d have backed up and tried to grope his way downstairs if a crash hadn’t distracted him. He shouted out a ‘hey’ in response, snapping back into his headspace, focusing on the noise. The raccoon that caused it loped its way to the retaining wall and scrambled to haul itself up, scratching on the rocks until it got it’s girth up on the ledge and disappeared into the night.

“What was that?” Todd asked him, right at his shoulder. 

“Raccoon.”

“Seriously? What an asshole.” 

“Kicked some of the food over.”

“Which - Oh man.” Todd said, sighing. “I was gonna eat that ziti.”

“We’ll take the rest.”

“Yeah man but _I was gonna eat that.”_

“Todd are you drunk?”

“Shut up man you’re drunk. Fuck you.”

Lance left Todd to brood over food splattered on the ground and found Freddy splayed across two poolside chairs, eating the remains of a watermelon. Neither spoke. Lance just stood by him, looking around, accepting a slice. A few of the remaining guests had retired to the hot tub. A pair hovered by the cabana, helping the host clean up. Far off, by himself but bright even in the dim, was Pietro. Lance patted Freddy’s shoulder and left him and the rind behind. 

“Hey.” Lance said, nervous now that they were in the open air, not sure how much of what happened was in his head, or would have to remain there.

“Isn’t it nice, Lance?” Pietro said, ignoring his greeting. Or running with it. “This view.”

“It’s nice.” Lance agreed, looking into the deep black-blue. There wasn’t much to see. Dark, and a string of lights way off on the opposite coast.

‘We deserve this.” 

“The view?”

“All of it.” Pietro sipped his drink. “The view, the house, the comfort.” Pietro stopped and glanced at him, and Lance was sure he meant more than just what he said. “Don’t you think Lance? Don’t we deserve some good in this miserable world?”

“It’s more than we’re used to.”

“You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t want every day to be like today. Every night.” Pietro turned to look at him, eye to eye. “Don’t lie to me like that, Lancelot. I know you too well. You’re just as selfish as the rest of us. You wouldn’t have followed me if you weren’t.”

“I know better than to get my hopes up.” 

Lance swallowed, throat tight. Now he wasn’t sure if they’re talking about party crashing anymore. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if they’re talking about what happened in the back bedroom either. He squirmed under Pietro’s careful scrutiny. His touch still burned on his skin. How much of this would matter by tomorrow morning? 

Pietro didn’t speak. Lance looked at the deck in front of them, the pitch into darkness and the beach below. He couldn’t hear the ocean despite it being so close. 

“Would you want it?” Lance said, shocking himself. He floundered for a way to continue while Pietro waited for the second part of his question. “I mean… this.” Lance wet his lips, fighting the rush in his throat, an avalanche of something ready to destroy what was probably already the tattered remains of a friendship, further obscure the blurred lines Pietro smudged upstairs. “... The view?”   


“I’m not a fan of beachfront, if we’re being honest.” Pietro said smoothly. “Too much property upkeep. And you? Coupled with erosion? I think we should probably shoot for a little more inland.”   


“ The house?” Lance asked then, pushing it. He covered his mouth with one hand.    


“I like the tower. The Spanish tile is gorgeous. That master bedroom balcony is a definite plus.” Pietro hummed and sipped his drink, casually glancing back at the house. “But the overall silhouette is lopsided. The color reminds me a little bit of Xavier’s place, and we _can’t_ have that. The driveway is probably murder in the winter. And again, the location is a little too close to sea for me. But I’m not _that_ picky."   


“The comfort?” Lance said finally, almost too rushed, whispered into his fingers. 

There was a pause then. He clamped his hand tighter over his mouth, swallowing the shakes, the remainder of the words vomiting over into the night. He’d humiliated himself enough just asking. He fell face first into this, following Pietro up the steps, into the dark. He could still feel everything wormed under his skin and in his head and he couldn’t shake it. _Why did you do it, Pietro. Why did you if you didn’t want me in the fucking first place-_   
  
“Oh Lance. You know me.” Pietro said fondly. He reached out and carefully grasped Lance’s bicep, stroking up to his shoulder. “I know exactly what I want and what I deserve."

“And what’s that?” Lance asked. He meant it snarky, maybe a little mean spirited. He was so bitter, so angry with himself. But it came out quiet and aching, needy. Entirely _wrong._

But Pietro didn’t answer anyway. When Lance was brave enough to look, he found Pietro there, standing still by his side. His drink remained in his hand, sweating in the warmth of the night. His other hand remained, Lance noticed, on his arm. It squeezed gently.   
  
And then he was gone. Lance let out the breath he’d been holding. He clamped his hand into a fist against his mouth and raised the other to band tightly where Pietro’s hand had been squeezing until he couldn’t take it. 

** ==== **

Todd was the one with the hangover. Lance wasn’t much of a nurse, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in bedside manner. Todd wasn’t all that friendly in excruciating pain, but he was much better at being appreciative now that he was helpless. So he managed to thank Lance when he was shutting the door to the bathroom, half submerged in cool water, near enough to the toilet to lunge if he needed it, the lights off and the lacy curtain to the bathroom window hanging over the cardboard Lance had stuffed to block more light. 

Lance made sure to keep the door open a crack for air, to hear yells and the beginnings of retching. Freddy already knew to keep it down. The real challenge would be to appeal to Pietro’s sympathies. Lance wasn’t too keen on appealing to anything concerning Pietro except maybe a swift kick, but his anger left him quickly as the tide. That is, it raged and welled up in him all night, and left him once the morning came, receding into himself. He was too tired to fight. 

He met Pietro in the hall, right outside his room, both surprised at the seemingly sudden appearance of the other. Lance wondered if maybe Pietro had forgotten. He looked at him no differently than he ever had. Lance wondered then if he’d dreamed it. It wasn’t out of his wheelhouse, certainly, but so vividly - in someone else’s house? That would be a troubling first

“How’s Frogger?” Pietro asked, a note of amusement in his voice.   


"He’ll be okay.” Lance answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s had worse, I think. But…”   
  
Pietro hummed, nodding and pursing his lips. Lance’s attention was immediately drawn, and something like hatred splashed up inside his chest. Whatever it was, it dripped back down into his stomach and solidified, leaving the burning up to his neck to settle. Lance looked down at the carpet, distracting himself. He couldn’t possibly vacuum with Todd being in that much agony, not without getting spat at. He might be able to sweep, though. Get the big crumbs and dust bunnies. 

“And how are you?” Pietro asked, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, drawing Lance’s attention back to him as effortlessly as ever. “You’re significantly better than last time.”

“I didn’t drink all that much.”

“So you didn’t.” Pietro let his head loll on the wallpaper, first away from Lance, then toward him. “You seemed okay, last night.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Lance said, something welling up in his throat too liquid to be panic. “I had fun.”

_ Stupid.  _ Lance thought, fighting not to wince.  _ What a fucking stupid thing to even think.  _

“You did.” Pietro said. It was a statement. Lance wasn’t sure what that meant for him. Them. Was there even a chance- “I did too, as a matter of fact.”

“You always have a good time at those things.”

“Well yes. But I meant-” Pietro stopped suddenly, pausing at the edge of a word and then easing back. Behind them, Todd groaned and sloshed in the tub. Lance turned to glance over his shoulder, and when he looked back, Pietro was upright, looking at him.

“You didn’t sleep well.” The sudden subject change didn’t bother Lance as it might have - Pietro was known for them. “I heard you pacing.”

  
“I was thinking.” 

“About?” 

Lance kept his mouth firmly shut. How could he tell Pietro to his face he’d been up breaking down because of what he’d did? What he’d said - or had forgotten to say - or chose not to say? How could he drag Pietro into a problem he caused? Not he -Pietro- he -Lance-, because Lance had forever kept something so internally damaging secret and allowed himself to expose it in a back bedroom, and then got mad when that, unspoken, was trod on. Or not trod on. Pietro hadn’t said - he didn’t even _know_ so far as Lance knew. Pietro was, and always, Pietro - and Lance couldn’t fault him for that. He could only blame himself for his moment of weakness, and now that he’d gone and made himself vulnerable, everything that came crashing after. 

But, instead of unleashing all that, instead of living up to his name and making the beachside edge of that nice hostess’ home go tumbling into the sea, Lance kept it all bottled up until he felt his insides bruise. Instead of blowing up at Pietro, Lance took a shuddering breath and let it out his nose, hiding it, and his not-secret, longer.    
  
And Pietro, instead of leaving, grasped his arm like last night. No matter how he blinked Pietro stayed there, carefully holding him at half-arm’s length. Lance wasn’t sure what to do, what to make of any of this. So he stared, flickering between looking at Pietro’s face, and his slowly dropping hand, right up until it curled around his fist. Lance watched it break open and Pietro’s fingers steal into the spaces between, stuffing themselves in before he could close up again, holding him steady.

“Come in, Lance.” Pietro said. Lance, still holding to Pietro’s hand, did just that. 

**Author's Note:**

> I got invited back to the party house and also remembered that I was weirdly proud of the previous one?? So you get a part two enjoy.
> 
> Nothing _as_ fun happened but it was still a good time the house is gorgeous guys and the food was great. They had this sandcastle cake that was like caked and pudding and crumbled cookies and served in a bucket holy shit it was ah-may-zing. 
> 
> I’m going back in August and I’m gonna have a blast you’re all invited.


End file.
